


In Which Phoenix is Now Magically a Werewolf, and They Have Some More Sex

by Red



Series: Untitled Werewolf Nonsense [2]
Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Biting, Blood, Ejaculate, Established Relationship, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Violence, Rough Sex, Scent Marking, Werewolf Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-01
Updated: 2008-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red





	In Which Phoenix is Now Magically a Werewolf, and They Have Some More Sex

Since the reality of Wright's transformation had set in, Edgeworth had often thought of it in much the same manner as he did their relationship: while he couldn't imagine doing without, he was certain that life would be much more rational and sane had it never happened.

Another picture frame fell to the floor, glass shattering across the carpet, as he threw Wright violently against the wall.

"Goddamn it, Wright. Will you just..." he paused, growling as Wright gripped his arm and began trying to wrench it back before he yanked it free again, "No, you _don't_. Matters would be far easier if you would... just... _submit_."

Another crack of body against wall, another picture down. This was insanity, pure and animal. He knew distantly that he'd deeply regret the extensive damage to his house in a few days: the groceries they'd barely been able to buy, nearly trying to rip one another's clothes off in the store, thrown forgotten and thawing on the entryway floor; four pictures toppled on the ground, broken glass everywhere; most the buttons torn off his shirt. Everything was an utter, complete, uncivilized mess, and they'd only been in the door for three minutes.

Phoenix laughed, a short little bark of a sound, and twisted to slam his weight hard against Miles, shoulder striking sternum. Edgeworth fell back, yelping.

"Really, Miles. Why don't you ever just _take your own advice_?" he snarled, dodging Miles' attempt at a strike, only to dare coming close again to rip at his pants.

"Wright, those have a zipper for a reason, you had better not... Don't you _fucking_... damn it, Phoenix!" At the sound of tearing fabric, he growled angrily and snapped hard at his mate. The attack to Wright's shoulder smarted despite the protecting layer of fabric and the blunt teeth of Miles' current form.

Stupid. This was a completely stupid idea, but the alternative was simply unthinkable. He hadn't intended to fly back into the country on the goddamn eve of the full moon; any self-respecting werewolf had the sense to plan around _that_. But one flight delay had turned into a nightmarish three, and with the nights wasted sleeping fitfully in airport lounges, he'd arrived two days behind schedule. Even when they were somewhat sane humans, it was difficult to keep their hands off each other after a months-long absence; even when he'd been in LA for months, they were always fighting wildly to dominate in mating with the approach of the full moon. With the two scenarios combined...

Phoenix growled in pain, but determinedly kept pushing at the torn pants. Edgeworth had no choice but to take a step back and cautiously untangle his clothes, eyeing Phoenix warily as he took off his shoes to strip.

Leaning against the wall, panting, Phoenix shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. He frowned at the broken glass.

"We..." he panted a few more times, licking his lips. Language always seemed to be more difficult for Phoenix at these times, and Miles had never decided if it was because he was so newly turned, or if it was as he was always so damn _instinctive_ to begin with. "We have to move somewhere safer," he roughly finished.

Narrowing his eyes, Edgeworth took another careful step back, dodging shards of glass. "With your big paws, _nowhere_ is safe," he griped, but he still kept cautiously backing towards the spare room.

Phoenix' grin was broad, feral--all teeth. "Afraid to turn your back?" he mocked, stalking after Miles and skirting the glass almost absent-mindedly. Edgeworth kept backing away--just a little more, and they'd be to the guest room. With Phoenix entering after him, he could easily subdue him with a blow against the doorframe.

"It doesn't hurt to be cautious," he admitted, smirking back.

This was dangerous, utterly mad, and he wondered every full moon how he had ever lived without it. When Wright was human, he was always cautious about these matters. No sex around the full moon, that was the rule: the temptation to mate, to press for submission with full animal strength was too strong. And his real strength, against something with a tenth of his recuperative power? Phoenix had always been hard-headed, but now... Now, Miles had no doubt that Phoenix could rip the side-view mirror off a speeding car.

Unfortunately, while it meant Wright could take the most violent mating, it also meant he was more than capable of doing several hundred dollars' worth of damage in an attempt to mate with _him_.

"Funny you say that, Miles," Phoenix commented, his voice still unnaturally rough as he tried to sound casual. Not yet to the room he was aiming for, Miles frowned. Phoenix wasn't about to try anything in the hallway _again,_ was he?

"What do you mean?" he asked, unconsciously hunching a little, ready to spring back if attacked.

His preparation did little good. True, it turned out Phoenix wasn't about to try anything in the hall, but as Edgeworth started to back past the entrance to the kitchen, he feigned at jumping Miles head-on. Distracted by the bluff, he grunted at the unexpected impact of Phoenix slamming hard against his left side, and stumbled to fall heavily on the kitchen floor. He tried to scramble back to his feet, to curl up on his side, anything at all--but he only got as far as ramming his knee hard against Phoenix' stomach before he was forced, spitting and growling the whole way, into being pinned belly-up.

Though he was still coughing from the pain of getting kneed in the gut, Phoenix bared his teeth triumphantly.

Edgeworth scrambled to think of _something_ to get out of this. 'Appeal to his human side,' he thought desperately, but he couldn't make his own mind clear enough to formulate a valid complaint. Even if he never wanted to submit, god, he always loved it.

" _Plates_ , Wright," he tried, last-ditch. It was true that the kitchen was hardly any less fragile than the hallway, and if he could just get Wright into that guest room...

"Shut up," Phoenix said, pressing with near-choking force against Miles' neck with one hand while he worked his pants and boxers down with the other, "and be glad _I_ chose a room with lube."

He hadn't thought of that--there _wasn't_ any lube in the guest room, and though previous experiences in the entryway, stairwell, Wright Agency bathroom, his car, and that one time in People Park had proven spit an effective last-resort substitute, it was far better when they had the mind to use _something_. Still, as he struggled in vain under the weight of Phoenix' body, instincts warring aggressively against the submissive position Wright had forced him into, his human mind couldn't help a mortified thought of 'Where in god's name did he hide lube in _the kitchen?!_ '

He was a little busy snapping ineffectively at Wright's arm to ask, though; catching only Wright's sleeve in his teeth, he was horrified as he began snarling as he tugged at it like some pathetic little puppy.

Phoenix couldn't even laugh, busy growling back half-crazed, thrusting his cock harshly against Miles' bare stomach a few times, determined to mark his long-absent lover with scent.

 _Insane_ , he thought again. This was insane, this was crazy, this was... He gasped and whined under Phoenix, feeling him shift to rut against his own straining cock. _God_ , this was his _mate_ , who he was stupid enough to think he could do without, even for a damned week.

"Phoenix," he breathed; or perhaps it was just that soft low cant of a whine that meant 'mate.' Either way, Phoenix responded slowly, pulling away with reluctance. He nudged at Edgeworth's side firmly, trying to get him to roll over and move further back into the kitchen. It was a sign of how far gone Phoenix was, to see him forget he still had proper hands, prodding and nipping at Miles with only his head. Edgeworth laughed, a rough and breathless sound, but let himself be guided into standing, hands clenching and braced against the rim of the sink. As Phoenix fumbled clumsily in the cabinet for a bottle of--well, Edgeworth guessed it didn't much matter if the bottle Wright grabbed was olive or grapeseed oil, either way he was happy Phoenix wasn't squirreling lube away with the forks; either way it was going to be a mess in the morning--he turned to frown at his mate.

He wanted to make _some_ smart comment, but all he could manage was a growled, "Take off those clothes," not even able to complete his thought about how difficult it was to wash out oil stains. Phoenix set the oil beside him shakily and complied, moving to pull hoodie and t-shirt off in one rushed action.

Maybe he was tired of this foreplay, and just wanted to come no matter _who_ was doing the mating. Maybe he enjoyed getting fucked. Hell, maybe right at that moment having Wright smash half the cabinetry with the force of his thrusts was an _extremely_ appealing prospect.

That still didn't mean he had to take it lying down. Seeing the opportunity as Phoenix' arms were momentarily trapped in fabric, Miles fought back.

Slamming his elbow back into Phoenix, he bit out the words, "I _told_ you it never hurts to be cautious."

The crack of cartilage and Wright's pained yowl had his remnants of rationality horrified, especially as all he could feel was primal triumph as Phoenix reeled back. He turned, ready to jump on Phoenix and pin him, but at the sight of a trickle of too-dark blood leaking from Wright's injured nose, he winced.

And with that short hesitation, he realized he'd lost his last chance to get Wright shoved up against the sink. Phoenix only shook his head once, as if to clear away the pain of the blow, and--ignoring the blood dripping down his face, onto the kitchen floor, and _god they'd need industrial cleaners later_ \--he grabbed harshly at Edgeworth's hips, throwing him back against the counter, heedless of Miles' shout as the corner of the countertop bruised his ribs.

Phoenix yanked at him, forcing him into position, legs splayed and hips tilted. Feeling Wright's clumsy animal thrusts against the curve of his ass, Miles groaned to hear the low, snarled command to get the oil; panted as Phoenix' language descended into that wild growl best translated as _I love you, but don't think I trust you enough to let you up_.

There was barely enough leeway in Wright's grip to reach the oil, and attempting to angle his arm to be able to pour it over Wright's cock and his own ass was nearly impossible with the constant jarring of Wright's hips. Oil was all over the floor, dripping down his thighs, everywhere; Phoenix' blood was trickling onto his shoulder. _God_ , this was _insane_ , just _insane_ , but his human mind could only come up with one more lame protest of "Try not to slip and kill us both, Wright," before he was grunting with the slow, determined intrusion of Wright's prick.

It was agonizing. So many months without this, and now to be stretched open by the thick head of Phoenix' cock... He was panting in pain, hands clawing and squeezing white-knuckled at the countertop, and despite it all he couldn't quite care. Snarling, growling, spitting, wanting to curse but forgetting every damned word--every time they mated like this, he was surprised to remember that his passion for Wright wasn't always about pleasure: sometimes it was all need, ownership, and domination.

The gradual burn of Phoenix sinking in deep finally stopped, his hips pressed hard against Miles' ass. Motionless, they panted together noisily for a few moments, Phoenix carefully shifting his footing on the floor to avoid oil and change position, draping his body heavily over Miles' back. It took Miles a second to realize that the odd tacky sensation as Phoenix nuzzled his shoulder was the smearing of blood.

He didn't want to think of why that made him need to whine and press back, suddenly beyond desperate.

Immediately, he was glad for the support of the countertop; for Wright's rough steadying clench, hands tight around his hips, teeth pricking the nape of his neck. Phoenix thrust without a care for pleasure, mad vicious thrusts that went from shallow to deep, from missing Miles' prostate to banging hard against it, with an absolute lack of pattern. He felt sore already, stretched and raw, but he just lifted his ass higher to hear Phoenix groan happily above him, the sound muffled slightly by his flesh between Phoenix' teeth.

The thrusts got deeper and more erratic. He was glad for his unnatural recuperative abilities, because otherwise it would be _months_ before he could sit again. Shoving his hips back against Phoenix' thrusts, he could only pant loudly and occasionally whine. He could not remember the English for "please." There was no translation; he could barely grasp the concept.

Sometimes, he wondered why they even bothered to remain in human form at _all_ when they were acting like this. It only took glancing once at the floor, spotted with oil and a few splatters of Wright's blood, to remember why: it left the house a mess, but at least it left the building intact.

Phoenix began grinding his teeth in more roughly and digging his fingers in more harshly, and as he drew blood he slammed in one last time, chest rumbling as he came. The rush of come and the few final thrusts of Phoenix' hips before he tried to still and flop, tired and gasping, on Miles' back were nearly enough to bring Edgeworth to orgasm, as well. However, he'd been gone too long without this. There was no way he could go without marking Wright. Ignoring the tired, annoyed yelp of protest, he bucked hard under Phoenix, shoving to knock him off. His breath caught at the dull ache of pulling off of Wright's waning erection, at the wet tickle of come and oil leaking down his inner thigh.

Still panting, he turned to Wright, steadying his exhausted mate into a stumbled crouch on the now-filthy floor. Wright was amazing: still flushed, chest still heaving, his nosebleed stopped but a thick smear of blood still staining his face. Edgeworth was gripped with a fierce wave of wild possessiveness, and, kneeling over Phoenix, he jerked himself off in a few firm strokes. He could feel the sore throb of the wound on his neck, could see the slight stain of what he thought was _his_ blood on Wright's teeth (and thank god is human mind was so gone to him at that moment, because he knew he should be disturbed by that, not wildly aroused), and could hear the begging pants and sighs of his mate. It wasn't long before he shot, pulsing arcs staining Wright's shoulder and chest.

Odd, what forms affection could take. He slumped into kneeling in front of his mate, rubbing his come into Phoenix' skin idly as he began licking blood off stubble in mute apology. It was as if his animal side knew it wasn't long before he came to his senses, and was unashamedly taking advantage of his humanity's absence. Wright seemed happy enough, as well--licking back from time to time; a curious, soothing hand wandering to grope gently at his backside. At that moment, he couldn't imagine the situation (mess of oil, blood, and come included) as anything other than completely normal. What was insane was his idiotic human devotion to worthless concepts like _professionalism_ or _sophistication_.

It couldn't last. Eventually he pulled back, animal haze receding, somewhat queasy at the blood in his mouth and the knowledge that he'd been the cause of it.

"Phoenix," he managed, realizing he was still massaging a sticky film of his seed over Phoenix' flesh, but finding himself unable to stop, "I'm..."

As he searched for the word--he had the _idea_ : guilt, apology; he was as far as coming up with 'désolé,,' but it was too much of a stretch for Wright to understand in his current mindset--Phoenix snorted and playfully nipped at him.

"Don't," he growled, before rubbing an arm casually across his face to scrub at the blood and center his thoughts. Smirking mischievously at Miles, he finished, "Actions speak louder than words, after all.

"Don't say you're sorry. Next time, just give it up like the bitch you are."

And for once--despite the intrusion of his humanity, thinking already of picking up broken glass and salvaging room-temperature steak--he felt no guilt at all for drawing blood.


End file.
